The Runaway
by Bobgirl5
Summary: AU Tired of his life living with his father, 17-year-old Spencer Reid ran away from home. He expected it to be difficult to survive on his own, but he did not expect to get involved in a BAU investigation.
1. Chapter 1

"Leaving home in a sense involves a kind of second birth in which we give birth to ourselves"

Robert Neelly Bellah

Las Vegas, NV

Spencer Reid stormed into his room, slamming the door behind him. He dropped his backpack onto the floor and flopped onto his bed. Another miserable week of his high school experience complete. "Why do I even have to go? I know everything they're teaching already…" he thought. He readjusted himself so he was lying on his side. He was the correct age to be a junior, seventeen as of a few months ago. Even so, he was way more advanced than any of his peers. His eidetic memory and reading speed, plus his love of the pastime, made it easy for him to retain information. He had learned the things he was being "taught" in school years ago. "Why didn't Dad let me skip any grades!? I could be getting a PhD by now." He knew that sounded conceited, but he felt as if he was wasting his time sitting in class every day, and listening to a teacher talk about things he already knew. He tried to read his own books during class sometimes, but always got caught and told to put them away. He didn't want to disrespect the teacher; he just wanted to gain new, stimulating information. He hadn't gotten any excitement from being in class for years now.

He got up, and walked over the small mirror hanging on his wall. He had black eye from a guy punching him that afternoon. The other boy had been smoking, and Spencer had said that every time you smoke a cigarette, your life is reduced by eleven minutes. He had been only trying to help, and had no idea why the boy had gotten so angry. He opened the top door of his dresser and pulled out some concealer. He began to dab it on his eye, trying to make it look more natural. He didn't want to have to deal with his father questioning him today.

After he finished, he stepped back, proud of his work. His father would never be able to notice. He only worried that when he went to visit his mother at Bennington Sanitarium the next day, she would notice that something was wrong. "I hope she'll be having a good day tomorrow…" he thought. He really missed his mom; she was always so kind to him, and proud of his accomplishments. His father never seemed to care. "Maybe he just wanted a normal kid." He sighed, and went over to his bookshelf, selected a book, and sat on his bed again, his back against the wall.

He read for a couple hours before he heard his dad open the front door and yell, 'Spencer! I'm home! I brought dinner!" He got up from his bed and, stepping over the books that were strewn across the floor, headed downstairs.

When he arrived downstairs, his father was taking styrofoam containers out of a plastic bag. Spencer sat down and opened his, it was pasta. He grabbed his fork and began to eat. Dinner between him and his father was always awkward. His dad asked some standard questions, like "How was your day?" and "How was school?" Spencer answered both of them with a bored "Fine." Towards the end of their dinner, Spencer suddenly perked up, "Oh yeah, when are we going to see mom tomorrow?"

His father pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes, "We're not seeing mom tomorrow."

"What!? Why not? We see her every Saturday!"

"Exactly, you should be spending time with kids your age on Saturdays, not your mother."

"Dad, I have no one to spend Saturdays with anyway!"

"I know, why do you think that is? Either the fact that your best friend is your mentally ill mother or the same reason you got that black eye," Spencer's father gestured to his son's face.

The concealer was coming off because Spencer had started crying. His father's words stung. It wasn't his fault that people his age didn't like him, he knew he said the wrong thing sometimes, but he never meant to, he just didn't understand other people well.

"Stop crying! Go to your room! And stay there until you can learn to be a man!" his father bellowed, and Spencer got up quickly and ran up the stairs.

When he reached his room, he slammed his door for the second time that day, and sat on his bed, backed up against the corner where the two far walls met. He curled up, putting his face into his knees. He breathed deeply, trying to calm down. He would convince his father to let him see his mom next week. He repeated, "It will all be okay," to himself about twenty times, but he couldn't believe it. What if his dad kept him away from her for months? If only he had known last Saturday that this would happen. He would have cherished every moment with her. What if her schizophrenia got worse in the time he couldn't see her? What if she didn't even recognize him when he got to see her again? The statistics ran through his head. They didn't look good. He looked around his room; the books were still strewn all over the floor. Half his clothes were in heap on a chair instead of in his closet. Besides his bookshelves, bed, and desk, there wasn't much furniture. His eyes landed on the small duffel bag on his floor he had used on the rare occasions that his family went on vacation when his mother was still living with them. It was dark blue, just large enough to fit around seven outfits and a few books, along with some other essentials. He knew what he was going to do.

He got up, grabbed the duffel bag, and started filling it with clothes. He snuck downstairs; his father was asleep on the couch. He took some ziploc bags from the kitchen and went back upstairs to the bathroom. He took his toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, shampoo, soap, and threw a few washcloths into the duffel bag as well. He grabbed three of his favorite books and put them in the bag. He went over to his desk and opened the box where he kept what little money he had. He counted it up, $37.50. Not ideal. He put it into a separate compartment in the bag. He zipped up the duffel and swung over his shoulder. He took one last look at his room and walked out the door. He left a vague note on the kitchen table, something about a school trip to visit colleges. That would convince his father for at least a couple days. He opened the front door, closing it quietly behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Quantico, Virginia

It was an average morning at the office. Morgan and Garcia were just walking into the bullpen area; Prentiss was already at her desk doing paperwork, as was Rossi in his separate office. Hotch was also in his office. They hadn't received a case, not yet at least. JJ could walk in at any moment.

"I'm sorry babygirl, I'm just not interested in going to a convention with you. I don't even watch Doctor How," Morgan said, sitting down at his desk.

"It's Doctor Who! And you'd only have to stay for a couple hours," Garcia said, pleading.

"I get too little time off as it is, I'm not going to spend it at an event for a show I don't even watch."

Garcia turned around and looked at Prentiss, "Emily?"

"Sorry, Garcia, Not interested." Prentiss said, with a smile something between sympathetic and amused.

"Ugh, you guys are no fun!"

"Ask Hotch," Morgan said, smiling at his own joke.

He earned a laugh from Prentiss. "Or Rossi!" she added.

Morgan began to laugh as JJ walked in.

"JJ!" Garcia exclaimed, "Will you…"

"No," JJ said, cutting her friend off.

"You didn't even let me ask!"

"Because I know exactly what you're going to ask. Why can't Kevin go with you?"

"It's his Mom's birthday so he's getting vacation time to go visit her."

"Awww, that's nice."

"Yeah, it is, I just wish he had told me that before I bought two tickets!"

JJ smiled apologetically, and suddenly remembered what she was there for. She walked to Hotch's office, knocking before opening the door and poking her head in. They exchanged a few words, and Hotch stood up and exited his office. In this time Rossi had realized something was going on and left his as well. Hotch looked at his team, "We have a case," he said, "Conference room in five."

"Five middle-aged men dead in two weeks," JJ said as she clicked through the pictures of the victims. The BAU team of five was in the conference room, going over a new case. Four were seated around the round table, and the blond communications liaison was standing up by the screen.

"That's not much of a cooling-off period," Morgan noted.

JJ nodded, "Cause of death is strangulation."

"With his hands?" Prentiss asked.

JJ nodded once more, "No prints were found on the victims. He used gloves."

"The fact that he used his hands means it's personal. The victims are likely surrogates for somebody," Rossi said, looking at the pictures thoughtfully.

Hotch spoke, "The victims are pretty fit, they would be hard to over-power. Our unsub is strong."

"He covered up his tracks pretty well," Prentiss noted, "He didn't leave a scrap of DNA."

"And he's likely to kill again soon," Morgan said, "Five victims in two weeks does not look good."

"We're going to Las Vegas," said Hotch, standing up, "wheels up in thirty."

Once they were up in the air, Hotch began to give directions to the group. "JJ, I want you to speak to the family of the latest victim, Matt Ziegler. Morgan and Prentiss, you head over to the crime scene. Rossi and I will meet up with the Las Vegas Police Department at the station and start on victimology."

When Hotch and Rossi arrived at the police station, they were greeted by the lead detective on the case, a man named Scott Slater. "I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner and this is SSA David Rossi, the rest of our team will be arriving shortly," said Hotch, shaking the detectives hand.

The detective shook Rossi's hand as well, and spoke, "I have to warn you, some of my men are kind of bitter about having to call the FBI in."

"We're only here to help," said Hotch, "It's crucial that everyone is on board with the investigation."

The detective nodded, and led them to a separate room where they could set up.

Prentiss and Morgan were at the crime scene, a street corner in a Las Vegas suburb.

"There's nothing here," said Prentiss, looking around. "A stop sign," she said, gesturing towards the stop sign unenthusiastically.

"And not much else..." said Morgan. "The body was here." he said, pointing to the grass, "My guess is this was a crime of opportunity."

"All the victims are white middle-aged men...He waited for him to walk by?"

"He wouldn't have had to wait long, this is a mostly white neighborhood, families with kids...A white middle-aged man wouldn't be difficult to come across."

"We should ask around...knock on some doors, ask if anyone saw any suspicious cars they didn't recognize."

Morgan nodded, "You take that side of the road, and I'll take this one, meet here in twenty?"

Prentiss nodded, and walked across the street to the first house.

Twenty minutes later, it was already almost 6:00pm, and they had had no luck. "Let's go to the station, we're not getting anywhere here," said Prentiss, tired of knocking on doors only to get either uncooperative or simply unhelpful people on the other side.

"Agreed, Hotch and Rossi dropped JJ off at the Ziegler's', let's pick her up on the way."

"Good idea."

"They weren't able to tell me anything," said JJ once she got in the car, "They haven't met anyone new lately, seen anybody suspicious...Did you guys have any luck?"

"Nothing," said Morgan, shaking his head as he drove.

"Hey, Morgan...is that a kid walking down the sidewalk there?" Prentiss asked suddenly, having spotted a teenage boy with neck length brown hair and a small duffel bag on his back. He was walking in the same direction they were driving, on the right side of the road.

"Looks like it," JJ said, having poked her head in between the two front seats, "You think he might be lost?"

"Let's find out," Morgan said, pulling up next to the teenager. "Hey, Kid!" he shouted.

The boy jumped, and looked behind him fearfully.

"Nice job, Morgan. You scared him," Prentiss said, and turning towards the boy, who looked ready to run, started talking with the voice she used with kids. "Sorry about that, we're with the FBI," she said, pulling her credentials out and showing them as proof. "We were just concerned for your safety, are you on your way home?"

"Y-yeah," the boy stammered, "I was staying over at a friend's, I'm on my way home right now. Why are you concerned for my safety? The crime rate for this area is the lowest out of all the Las Vegas suburbs, so the probability of me being in any danger is fairly low."

Prentiss frowned, and glanced over at Morgan and JJ. They weren't sure whether they should tell him what was going on, the press had gotten a hold of the situation, and were airing it on the nine o'clock news, but they didn't want to scare him anymore than they already had.

"He'll know in a few hours anyway…" Prentiss said in a low voice.

"Know what?" the boy asked.

"Prentiss!" Morgan scolded.

"What? It's not my fault the kid has super-hearing."

"Know what?" the boy repeated.

Morgan sighed, and looked at the teenager. "There's a serial killer, we're here in Las Vegas to catch him. Don't get freaked out though, he's not targeting teenagers."

The boy's eyes widened. "A serial killer? I got a threatening note in my mailbox just yesterday. It said, 'I'm coming to get you. Enjoy the last few days of your miserable life.' It wasn't signed, but it was addressed to me. I didn't think much of it at the time, I thought it was just some people from school playing a prank on me. But if there's a serial killer...my dad's on a business trip, and my friend and his family are going away for the weekend..." The boy looked panicked.

Morgan's eyes furrowed in confusion and concern, "Whoa, slow down kid, what about your mom? Isn't she home?"

The boy's eyes saddened. He shook his head.

Morgan cursed under his breath. He didn't mean to bring up something tragic with this kid. "Ok, get in the car. We're bringing you to the station."

The boy smiled, relieved, and opened the car door, climbing into the backseat next to JJ.

JJ's eyes filled with concern when she saw the boy up close for the first time. "What happened to your eye?"

Prentiss and Morgan immediately turned around to look at the teenager's face. He had a black eye; his left eye was purple and swollen.

He blushed looking down at this feet when he told them, "A guy at school punched me, no big deal. It happens all the time"

JJ's face fell, and she exchanged looks with Morgan and Prentiss. They both had solemn expressions as well.

"We'll get you some ice at the station," said JJ, patting the boy's leg.

Morgan turned back around, and began to drive. He suddenly spoke after a few minutes of silence, but kept his gaze straight-on. "It's not your fault. Bullying is something that happens to a lot of people, it happened to me, believe it or not. Now, I don't mean that it's something kids should have to go through, because it's not, but just know that's you're not the only one."

The boy smiled, thankful that the man had been so kind to him.

Prentiss looked at Morgan with surprise, "_You?_ Really?"

Morgan glanced over at Prentiss. "Shut up."

"I'm just surprised! I thought you were all Mr. Tough Guy in high school."

"I was, but not until sophomore year when I finally got some muscle."

"You were one of those tiny freshmen? I have to have Garcia get me some pictures."

"You will not."

Prentiss chuckled. "Oh! I just realized!" she turned around and looked at the boy, "We didn't ask what your name was."

"It's Spencer," he answered.

"Alright Spencer," said Morgan, "Ever been to a police station before?"


End file.
